


I Don't Understand Why You Would Care

by imawalkingtravesty



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcoholic Tony Stark, Anxious Tony Stark, Depressed Tony Stark, Domestic Avengers, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Hydra (Marvel), Insomniac Tony Stark, Nightmares, POV Third Person, Panic Attacks, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Protective Pepper Potts, Protective Steve Rogers, Self-Harm, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Angst, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Nightmares, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Has Trust Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22619296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imawalkingtravesty/pseuds/imawalkingtravesty
Summary: Tony was fine.That’s what he told Steve. But Steve still kept barging into his workshop without notice, demanding to know his sleep schedule, his eating habits, his workload. Sometimes Tony would humour himself with the idea that hey, maybe Steve actually cared about him, but he knew it was just because he had all the upgrades and Steve wanted to make sure that he could still regularly dish out improved weaponry on a short notice, or even unprompted.In which Tony Stark gives Steve Rogers many reasons to worry about him, but still doesn't know when to accept the help.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Avengers Team, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Comments: 32
Kudos: 374





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, heed the tags.  
> Let me know what you think so far in the comments :)

Steve Rogers was worried about Tony Stark.

That doesn’t happen often. Tony Stark was the loudest, brassiest person on the face of the Earth, as far as Steve knew. Always happy, always bragging, always aware of how much he had, and not afraid to flaunt it in people’s faces. True to his file, he displayed textbook narcissism, was brash and compulsive, and very self-centered. But he gave Steve and the rest of the Avengers a place to live, food, and regular armour upgrades, so the pros outweighed the cons.

But Tony was quiet. That should make sense, considering he was asleep, but that was the first time, anyone really, had seen their landlord sleep. And it wasn’t just that. He looked shy, quiet, almost concerned, when he slept. Vulnerable. Oddly small, in a way. And there was something in the way that even asleep, there were worry lines around his mouth, eyes, and on his forehead, and the eye bags still didn’t go away, and there was grime and grease marks on his face and in his hair. It looked like the first time he had slept in ages.

Clint was the first one to see him, curled up in a ball in the common area’s couch, and immediately ran to get Steve.

“What do you want?” Steve had answered when Clint barged into the gym.

“Good morning to you, too. And Stark’s asleep,” Clint answered.

Steve paused. It shouldn’t surprise him, but it did. “So?”

“I don’t know. It’s just, strange. And he’s on the couch. Can you wake him up so I can watch the morning cartoons?” Clint asked.

“Why don’t you do it yourself?” Steve threw off his sweaty shirt and grabbed a clean one from his gym bag.

“Because,” Clint answered plainly. “I’m too busy making coffee.”

Steve sighed and pulled on the clean shirt, and headed upstairs to see Tony curled up on the couch, his arms tucked behind his knees, his back facing the TV and the top of his head pressed against the back cushions.

And that’s where he was now, just noticing how little sleep the man actually got.

Tony shifted a bit in his sleep, hugging his arms closer to his chest. He rubbed his head against the cushions for a few seconds, stopped, then exhaled slowly and stayed still. His eyebrows were low and heavy, and he looked almost upset. Whatever he was dreaming about, it wasn’t sunshine and rainbows. Steve was about to put a hand on Tony’s shoulder to shake him awake, but-

“Let him sleep,” Natasha said from the corner.

“God,” Steve jumped, putting his hand on his chest in surprise. “You scared me.”

“I tend to do that,” she smirked. “I’ll tell Clint to use one of the other umpteen TV’s in the tower. Throw a blanket on him or something.”

Steve frowned, but followed her instruction. It was ten o’clock on a Monday, didn’t Tony have work? Shouldn’t Pepper be here to cajole him into attending a meeting or something by now? He grabbed a blanket from the linen closet and turned around to meet Bruce, who stopped when he saw Tony lying on the couch.

“Didn’t know he actually slept,” Bruce shrugged.

“Me neither,” Steve went to place the blanket on Tony, but he woke up as soon as Steve approached him and assumed a defensive stance. 

“Hey,” Bruce said, appearing beside Steve. “Sorry to wake you up.”

“It’s… okay,” Tony looked around for a second, blinking rapidly. “I’m not in my workshop.”

“You’re in the TV room,” Clint drawled, suddenly behind the couch. “In my spot.”

“Sorry,” Tony said quietly, almost like he was actually sorry. That never happened; sorry sometimes didn’t seem like it fit in his vocabulary. 

Steve shot a glare a Clint, who looked back at him, slightly guilty. “I mean, it’s your couch, do whatever you want,” he said sheepishly, backing away.

“It’s okay,” Tony waved his hand dismissively and sat up, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He ran his hand over his face. “What’s the date?”

“November eighteenth,” Bruce supplied.

Tony looked up, surprised. “Already? Christ.”

“You alright?” Steve asked, concerned.

“Yeah, yeah. Just have something due soon,” he grimaced as he stood up, his joints cracking. 

“You sure?”

“I’m great, Cap,” Tony yawned, stretching. “Just used to waking up on the floor. I’m not even sure how I got up here.”

“You should stay,” Bruce smiled. “I’ll make breakfast for you, then you can go back and work on whatever you were doing.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to take a rain-check. Pep’s gonna blow if I don’t have this done by tonight,” Tony shook his head, turning to head out the door, but Steve stopped him. 

“You sure you’re alright?” 

“Just spiffing. Why are you suddenly concerned?” Tony asked, confused.

“You look… tired,” Steve admitted.

Tony shrugged. “I’ll be back to normal after the deadline. Now I have to work, and you’re late for your daily ritual of praising the founding fathers of America. We all know you have a crush on Alexander Hamilton.”

“Now you’re just being difficult.”

“What else is new,” Tony said, grabbing the blanket from Steve and wrapping it around his shoulders like a cape. He disappeared into the elevator with a mock salute, and went on his way.

“He really doesn’t look too good,” Bruce put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “He’s probably running on two minutes of sleep.”

“Why doesn’t he just say so?” Steve said, exasperated.

“Knowing Tony, he sees sleep as a weakness,” Bruce sighed. “And he’ll do anything to keep others from seeing him when he’s like that.”

\--

“We’ve decided that the two best candidates for this mission are the Captain and Tony Stark.”

“What,” Tony deadpanned. “Me, I get, because I can hack into the hard drive, but why Cap?”

We see him as the best as far as physical strength goes,” Fury glared at Tony. “And until you inject yourself with a super-serum, I’d keep your mouth shut.”

“Give me a few days,” Tony mumbled, slumping down in his seat.

“You don’t have a few days. You’re leaving in,” Fury checked his watch. “Ten minutes. Pack up.”

“Put the righteous son of America and the selfish and impulsive genius on a mission together. C’mon, eye patch. Sometimes I’m convinced I’m the only person with a brain,” Tony snarled before turning on his heel and leaving the conference room.

Fury just smirked.

But really, if Fury actually cared, then he wouldn’t have sent Tony on a mission at all. He couldn’t sleep with anyone around him, couldn’t risk having a nightmare and ruining the image he worked so hard to keep. All was right in Tony’s head, he was fine, it wasn’t taxing at all to have to slap himself in the face whenever he felt himself drifting off, especially after the second night. It took two days to get to the base and find it, but now they actually had to fight and get the files.

“You ready?” Steve asked, looking at Tony.

The Iron Man mask closed. “You bet, Cap.”

And they both rushed in.

There was only one door, so stealth wouldn’t work; they’d have to force themselves into the base. It was fairly easy, especially with all the new tech that Tony had made, but there were just so many guards and only the two of them. Tony quickly spotted the main computer, and nodded at Cap, who caught his eye.

“Cover me,” Tony instructed him, then turned and got to work on obtaining files. 

The noise of Steve fighting was blocked out by Tony’s thoughts, as he inserted the USB and almost mechanically broke through all of the security set in place. He quickly moved all of the documents onto the 2 terabyte USB, and after clicking and dragging forever and waiting for the zib bomb to download, he was finally wrapping it up. He removed the drive quickly and opened the zip bomb file, and waited until he knew that the bomb would work. The computer crashed and he turned around, about to announce to Cap that he was done, but he was nearly shot by some dude and the blast hit the monitor instead and exploded.

Tony turned around, the faceplate closing menacingly, but Steve already had the shield against the man’s head. 

“You done?” Steve yelled, blocking another blast with his shield.

“Let’s head out!” Tony called, already heading for the exit.

They dodged bullet fire (well, Cap did, all of the bullets bounced harmlessly off of the Iron Man armour) and hit people out of the way on their path to the exit. Several people tried to hold onto the armour to try to slow it down, but Tony managed to kick them off without so much a break in his stride. Steve didn’t have as great luck, so Tony flew behind him to blast people out of the way.

“Everybody out!” a voice yelled, and Tony frowned. If they were telling their own men to evacuate…

“This place is gonna blow!” Tony warned Steve, who sprinted even faster, but a blast from someone’s gun hit Tony’s arc reactor and his suit stuttered just enough to slow him down-

The explosions shook the ground, and Tony’s skull rattled. He hit the ground, his body jarring in the suit, and there was searing pain in his leg. His ears were filled with a high-pitched ringing, and he was vaguely aware of somebody calling his name, somewhere far away, and almost underwater. He opened his hand and sighed in relief when he’d managed to somehow keep ahold of the USB the entire time.

“Hey,” Steve’s face swam into view in front of him. 

Tony lifted his face plate off, ignoring all of the injuries listed in the display. “Hi.”

“You good, Stark?”

Tony looked at his injured leg and bit his tongue at the revolting sight. There was a piece of metal that had pierced the armour and was sticking straight up, wedged in the skin and suit. There was blood pouring around the wound, and he groaned, closing his eyes and hanging his head so that he was facing the ground.

“Tony?”

“All’s great. Just maybe help me up,” Tony reached up, and Steve grabbed his arm and looped it around his shoulders, helping him limp to the Quinjet.

Once Tony was safely in a seat with his injured leg propped up on the seat opposite him, he finally allowed himself a good look. He had managed to somehow lose the boot on the way to the jet, so getting the suit off wasn’t really a problem, but now he could see the metal that was wedged into the skin. He reached down and grimaced, steadying himself, and pulled it out in one movement as to not allow himself to think too much about it.

He hissed in pain, throwing his head back, hot tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Steve returned with the medical pack, frowning disapprovingly. “I don’t think you’re supposed to take it out,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Tony choked out. “I do it all the time.”

Tony may or may not have spaced out from the pain, and the next time he was fully aware of where he was, Steve was almost done tending to him.

“Cut’s deep, but it shouldn’t be life-threatening,” Steve said, wrapping Tony’s leg in dressing. “Looks to be infected, but we’ll be back soon.”

“Great. Shit,” Tony gritted his teeth when Steve placed the ice pack on his leg. “Still hurts like a bitch.”

“You’re okay. Try to get some sleep, you look like death.”

Tony crashed hard, albeit not on purpose. But he’d been awake for so long, and the adrenaline from the battle was wearing off, and he was injured, and his limbs felt heavy, and his eyelids were drooping, and his neck was straining under the weight of his head, and he was just so, so tired…

The Quinjet lifted off, on autopilot, and he fell asleep to the low hum of the motors.

\--

Tony opened his eyes, and there was only blackness and then an explosion in front of him, like the wormhole, and then he didn’t know if he closed his eyes again, because Steve was there, and Steve was never there whenever the wormhole entered his nightmares. But this wasn’t a nightmare; he had his eyes open. He could feel the stickiness of his clothes, but it was all dark and he felt purple. Like, the air and all was purple, and everything was tinged purple, but there was yellow for some reason which shouldn’t even be there since yellow and purple are opposites.

An explosion rang in his ears and he closed his eyes, and when he opened them he was in his childhood bed, but his dad was standing over him. 

“I’ve come to say goodbye,” he said. But it was weird. Because Howard is dead. Was?

“You’re a few decades late,” Tony replied, rolling over, but something blocked him. There was something else here. It was purple. Everything was purple. The purple thing grabbed onto his hand and he tried to shake it off, but it in turn was shaking his arm.

“I just wanted to say that I’m proud,” Howard said, even though he was dead.

“Too late for that too,” Tony rolled over and buried his face in the blankets that were made out of knitted wool like he had when he was younger, and he closed his eyes to get rid of his childhood and the strange thing that still had an iron grip on his forearm.

He didn’t think he opened his eyes but for fuck’s sake Steve Rogers’ face was in front of him and Tony retaliated and hit him, but his hand went through him like he was made out of slime and then something was different about him other than the fact that he was malleable, there were white spider-webs of ice on his head and his lips were blue and his eyes were icy, icy blue and dead and his breathing was raspy, it rattled in Tony’s ears, and Tony screamed.

Someone was pinning him down and he needed it to go away because it wasn’t purple anymore it was blue, too blue, and he was hot and cold all at once, and he opened his eyes even though he thought they were already open and he was in the Quinjet, his clothes were hot and sticky and stuck to him with sweat, and then the thing pinning him down was his own Iron Man suit, and it reached down to lift up Tony’s shirt and he was paralyzed, his arms and breath and legs frozen and he couldn’t do anything but scream as it twisted the arc reactor out of his chest, glaring at him with the light blue eyes, and it didn’t let go of him, just watched him die and his chest hurt and something was yelling his name but it was all wrong and sounded like it came through a megaphone or a telephone or something.

He thrashed around once the suit disappeared into dust, and the arms let go of him, and he hit something and it poured water on his hand and it was so so so hot so he brought his hand closer to him to hopefully get rid of the pain and when he looked at his hand it was yellow and swollen, and everything was yellow, and his hand, his hand was turning into the gauntlet of his suit and it was turning on him and it was closing in on his neck but then it turned into play-dough along with his hand and he couldn’t feel his arm, so he curled in on it, and it felt like somebody else’s arm, and then it exploded into pins and needles and he screamed because that shit hurt.

He opened his eyes, which was weird, because he swore his eyes were already open, and Steve was standing over him. 

“Hey, you’re okay,” Steve said in a strained voice, like he was forcing it to stay calm. He carefully grabbed Tony’s hands, pinning them down. There was a bright bruise blooming on his face where Tony had hit the dead-Steve in his dream, and everywhere that Steve touched him felt like pins and needles still. His groggy and out-of-whack eyes found Steve's blue ones, and he felt his pulse pick up in his head when he realized that Steve’s eyes were panicked. 

That just made Tony freak out even more, because if Steve was freaking out, then there really was something to freak out about. He realized vaguely that his leg was burning, and when he looked down, it really was on fire. Bright flames leapt into the air, engulfing the bandage. 

“My leg’s on fire,” he mumbled, hanging his head, breathing heavily. The edges of his vision were going purple and nausea was going to win soon. He swallowed hard.

Tony screamed, throwing his head back and screwing his eyes shut when Steve touched the leg that was in flames, and the next time he opened them, there was a cloth bag over his head that filtered the light, but he could, thankfully, still see.

The hands were back and there were more hands this time and all of his suits were yelling his name, he swore he could hear Captain America’s voice coming through a suit, and the suits were surrounding him and suffocating him and then they picked him up, and they brought him through the ceiling, and the hands never stopped and he kept kicking and rolling around to get them to let go but they held on and were restraining him, and the bag was ripped off of his head, and they were so far up, but it was weird because the sky was so, so blue, and then he realized that it wasn’t the sky and that they were flying him toward the wormhole, and once he realized that he let out a blood-curdling scream, which was when the hands all let go and he was falling, falling…

He hit the ground with a jolt and opened his eyes, and there were people with blank faces staring down at him, just staring, and then their faces turned into paper, slowly being whisked away, except for one, who was slowly turning around as the others’ faces disappeared, and it was some sort of creature with bright, buggy, blue eyes that seemed too big, a smile that stretched from ear to ear, its lips thin and long, and it got closer and closer, and then once all the people’s heads disappeared and they were just bodies, they were yelling things in a different language, and they poured water on him and he was drenched and he couldn’t breathe and he tried to get out but then the people had their hands on him again and he looked down at his chest and there was a magnet powered by a car battery once again, and he looked up, and he was back in the cave. He looked back down at his chest because it hurt so so much and there was palladium poisoning making its way up, and he watched it happen, it was crawling through his veins and he was going to die, and then it covered his arms and legs, making them turn the gross black purple that had covered his body long ago, and then they disappeared and he felt his skin start to disintegrate.

Tony’s scream was probably the thing that woke him up. His eyes wrenched open, and he was in the Quinjet, his own body returning to him. Was this finally reality? Someone was whimpering like an injured dog, and he just wanted it to stop.

“Tony, it’s okay,” Steve kept repeating, by his side. Tony realized that the whimpering was coming through his throat, and he stopped, settling for breathing heavily.

Steve had a hand going through Tony’s hair, but his eyes were focused on the dressing on his leg. He didn’t appear to have noticed that Tony was finally lucid and aware of his surroundings, or maybe Tony had been so out of it that even when he was, technically, awake, he wasn’t really comprehensible, and Steve just tuned him out in favour for looking at Tony’s wound.

“Steve,” Tony croaked out, his throat raw from yelling. 

Steve met his eyes quickly, ceasing the hand that was running through his hair. “You with me?”

“I think so,” Tony grimaced, the acrid taste of bile filling his mouth. “I’m gonna throw up.”

Steve quickly found a bag (people act fast when there’s a chance that they’ll have to spend the flight home in a plane reeking of someone’s vomit) and held it open as Tony spat out bile and water, not having eaten in the past few days. He tried not to look at Steve’s face but found it anyway, the blue of his eyes concerned and mildly grossed-out, but not panicked like before.

“You done?” he asked, tying off the bag.

“For now,” Tony said, his voice wrecked. He leaned back into the headrest, holding his neck straight to fight off the nausea. “What happened?”

“Infection got worse quickly. You’re burning up,” Steve put the back of his hand against Tony’s forehead, and he flinched away, making his head spin. “I’m just gonna throw the bag away. Don’t move.”

Tony couldn’t if he tried. His leg was burning (thankfully not actually on fire, like his mind made him think last time) and his stomach was sitting in his chest, any move would send him into another mess of vomit and crying. He chanced a look down at his leg and winced when he saw how puffy it had gotten. Clear-ish/yellow-ish pus was leaking through the bandage, mixing with blood. Steve had clearly been tending to him for a while, as there were many layers of bandage around his leg and only two hours left in the flight. 

But then the pus was crawling up his leg, and it was enveloping it, and then it turned into the sands of the desert in Afghanistan, except there were no helicopters this time. As far as he could see, it was just sand forever, no trees, no grass, no water. And then he realized he was waist height in the sand, and then it went up to his shoulders and he couldn’t flail anymore, and his arms were pinned down to his sides from the pressure and he was frozen, swallowing sand and trying not to breathe it in but it got through anyway and he could feel it in his lungs and he choked and he couldn’t breathe, his head was spinning and he was going to die-

He woke up again, gasping and choking for air. There was a low thrum in the motor of the Quinjet that told him that they were preparing to descend. 

Steve was talking to someone on speaker phone while tending to Tony’s leg. This time, soiled dressing was piled in a heap on the ground and Tony’s leg was bare. Steve was wearing blue rubber gloves and holding a square of gauze covered in some sort of strong smelling ointment, and he closed his eyes and bit down on his tongue, preparing for the worst.

When the gauze made contact with the wound, Tony let out a garbled yell and tried to kick his leg, but Steve held it down firmly, with his enhanced muscles. He thrashed his head from side to side, trying to get away from the pain somehow, but of course it didn’t work. He hung his head when the fight all suddenly drained from him, feeling his stomach start to revolt on him, and he swallowed hard.

“You’re okay,” Steve said, once Tony opened his eyes and stared accusingly up at him.

He responded by puking all over his shirt.

Steve pulled a face, but Tony already had his eyes shut and was preparing himself for another round of nightmares. His neck wouldn’t support his head and it was cramping up, until Steve pushed his head back against the headrest and Tony opened his eyes, just enough to squint at him through his eyelashes.

“Let’s get this off of you,” Steve tugged on Tony’s soiled shirt, and Tony obliged, not fighting it when he felt the wet fabric be torn away from his skin. 

“Everything alright?” a tentative voice asked from the phone. 

“Brucie-bear,” Tony mumbled, recognizing the voice.

“Yeah; he just threw up,” Steve placed the phone closer to Tony. “Talk to him while I throw this in the sink.”

“Hey Tony; I heard you’re not feeling too hot,” Bruce said, his voice metallic and tinny through the phone speaker.

“S’a lie. Fever,” Tony grinned loopily. “M’a few degrees hotter.”

“We’re gonna fix you up once you get back, alright?” Bruce completely skipped over the joke. “You’ll be back in no time.”

“Okay,” Tony said, his head falling onto his shoulder. 

“And try to stay awake.”

“Okay,” Tony tried to lift his head up, but it stayed firmly on his shoulder. 

He closed his eyes, just for a second, but when he opened his eyes the Quinjet was flying up towards the blue of the wormhole, and there were phones ringing everywhere, and he knew subconsciously that it was Pepper calling one of the phones but he couldn’t find her and he was moving in slow motion, and then there was a high-pitched whirring that made him freeze and he was stuck, and he was paralyzed in the Quinjet seat that was heading to their death, and Steve was standing over him, holding the paralyzing technology, just staring intently at the arc reactor, and he wouldn’t stop staring, and Tony felt so exposed, and God he’d never wanted to wear a shirt or at least something over his chest more.

He woke with another jolt, hands flying to his chest, but there was fabric in the way. Another shirt was wrapped around his upper body, and even though it was already soaked in his sweat, he was kind of pathetically grateful that there was something covering the arc reactor. He looked up and Steve was shirtless, working on wrapping Tony’s leg, and Tony sighed with relief when they were still continuing a slow path downward and not toward a wormhole.

“Bruce?” he mumbled.

“He’s on his way to the tarmac,” Steve informed him, finishing the wrapping and picking up the gross and bloodied bandages that were on the ground. “I’m going to throw these away. Please stay awake.”

“M’trying,” Tony said, forcing himself to sit up straight.

His leg was still burning, but it was all dulled. The fever was still raging behind his head, he could feel it burning inside of him, making him feel gross and dizzy and too hot and too cold at the same time. He kept his eyes open, not daring to close them for even a second and risk being plunged back into the worst series of nightmares that he’d ever experienced in his life.

“Sorry,” Tony said, staring up at Steve once he returned, thankfully still awake.

“It’s not your fault,” he said gently, kneeling down beside the seat. “We’ll be back soon, and they’ll take care of you.”

“M’leg. Hurts,” Tony closed his eyes, his eyelids burning red.

“I know,” Steve said, putting a hand on Tony’s shoulder, but quickly pulled it away when he flinched. “I need to bring the fever down. Is it alright if I put this on your head?”

Tony opened his eyes and saw that he was holding a damp towel. “No,” he said plainly.

“That’s fine. Could you drink something for me?” Steve asked, not pressing the matter.

“Might throw up.”

“You’re dehydrated. You really need fluids,” Steve put the damp cloth on the seat beside him and held up a small Dixie cup of water instead. “Please.”

Tony froze, about to remind him that he didn’t like to be handed things, but if Steve was going to kill him he would’ve done it already. He grabbed the cup with a shaking hand and brought it to his lips, taking a small sip. He pulled a face for a second as cold water went down his rough and parched throat, then took another small sip. 

That was about as much as he could stomach, and he pushed the cup away. 

“You’re okay?” Steve asked, taking the cup from him. Tony noticed a couple plastic bags at the ready on the seat beside him. 

“Probably not,” Tony swallowed hard, biting the inside of his cheek to fight off the nausea. 

“We’re going to be back in a few minutes, now,” Steve checked the ETA. “There’s an ambulance waiting.”

The last thing Tony wanted was to be prodded by a whole bunch of doctors, but he knew he really didn’t have a say anymore. His body wasn’t his, hasn’t been since Afghanistan. He didn’t like being touched anymore, but since when was anything his choice? He couldn’t even stand Pepper touching him at times, not when it was too loud and busy and a touch would snap him because that was just another thing he had to deal with. 

“M’gonna,” Tony made a grab for the bags beside Steve, feeling his stomach flip in his throat. 

Steve beat him to it but Tony grabbed it from him, holding it open as he heaved, bile and the small amount of water that he drank making a reappearance. He grimaced, nausea wracking over him in waves, but managed to leave it at that. He tied off the bag and Steve took it from him, getting up to throw it in the washroom.

Tony bit his tongue to keep the nausea at bay. He tried not to think of much and just tried to stay awake, even though falling asleep would make the dizziness and pain go away. 

“You alright?” Steve returned.

“Mhm,” Tony mumbled.

Steve kneeled down beside him, massaging Tony’s scalp again, and Tony just melted into it. Even though it seemed that Steve only knew one way of comforting someone, it was very effective. This was a touch he could deal with. It wasn’t rough, it wasn’t invasive, it was just… comfort.

“Cap?” Tony asked, once the nausea went away enough and he could risk opening his mouth again. “All of the nightmares, whatever I said in my sleep, it never happened.”

“Tony.”

“None of it, okay?” he said, meaning for it to sound demanding, but it just came out pleading.

“You were screaming your head off. I can’t just-”

“I’m fine,” Tony pressed. 

Steve sighed, giving up. “If you ever need to talk…”

“I won’t. But thanks for the offer,” Tony shut him up. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Steve huffed. “I won’t be happy about it.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Tony said, the energy faltering out of him, and he fought to hold his eyes open the rest of the way.


	2. Chapter 2

“Pep.”

“Hey, Tony,” she said, putting a hand on his forehead to check for fever.

Tony had been put under the knife so that they could get the small bit of metal that was still stuck in his skin out, and then was on antibiotics for the infection. He was connected to several IV’s for fluids and pain, and was very out of it. Whenever he woke up, it seemed that he forgot that he had already woken up numerous times before. He always acted surprised to see people by his bedside.

“M’head hurts,” he mumbled, rolling over slightly so that he was closer to her. 

“I know. You’ll get better soon,” she said softly, running her hand through his hair.

Steve watched as he melted into her touch, the scrunched up eyebrows relaxing into something almost resembling peace. There was something special about him and Pepper, no matter how much she seemed annoyed by his antics or how much he refused to admit that he needed someone, and at the end of the day, they both loved each other. 

This was a totally different side of Tony Stark. Steve was used to the snark, the endless talking, the witty and sometimes inappropriate jokes and remarks. This Tony was quiet and vulnerable, and he had a soft look in his large eyes. This Tony craved touch and affection, while the other Tony, the one he showed to the rest of the world, didn’t like people touching him and acted like he didn’t need anyone.

“I need..,” Tony said, trailing off. He closed his eyes, and the sentence was never finished. After a few seconds, his breathing deepened and he was asleep again.

Pepper pulled her hand from his head but he whimpered softly, and she moved it back, gently massaging his scalp.

“He pretends to not like this sort of thing,” Pepper whispered to Steve. “But if he’s hurt, or stuck in a nightmare, touch always calms him down.”

“Noted,” Steve said softly, stepping beside her. 

“This is how Maria used to comfort him,” she said with pursed lips, watching Tony’s still face.

“His mother?”

“Howard met her a few years after you disappeared. I never met her, but Tony loved her. Spoke very highly about her,” she said. “But Howard, he wasn’t good for either of them. Or so I heard.”

“Howard? How?” Steve asked, confused.

“Tony won’t talk about him, but he was an alcoholic,” she frowned. “It brought out the worst in him.”

Steve nodded, suddenly very uncomfortable. He only knew of Howard as the brilliant man who developed the serum, the smartest engineer in all of America. He was a genius, always going off about his work and all of the amazing things he’d done, but always had room to help others, even putting himself into enemy fire to help Steve rescue the captured soldiers. 

“I’m going to go write the mission report,” Steve said, smiling at Pepper. “Let me know when he wakes up for real.”

“I will,” she said softly, still not moving from Tony’s side.

Steve wondered what else he didn’t know about the Stark family.

\--

Tony turned out to be fine. His leg had a nasty purple contusion that would heal into a pink scar, then slowly turn white, but it was definitely not something to worry about.

That’s what he told Steve. But Steve still kept barging into his workshop without notice, demanding to know his sleep schedule, his eating habits, his workload. Sometimes Tony would humour himself with the idea that hey, maybe Steve actually cared about him, but he knew it was just because he had all the upgrades and things and Steve wanted to make sure that he could still regularly dish out improved weaponry on a short notice, or even unprompted. So to shut Steve up and to get him to stop fussing over Tony’s lack of self-care, he upgraded the Captain America shield so that it came back to him (sort of like Thor’s hammer but only a short distance, it was powered by magnets), and left it in the common area for him to see.

But no, Steve came down and had to say his thank you’s personally, and still regularly asked how he was doing. It kind of annoyed Tony at times; he wasn’t used to having company while he worked, and frankly, he didn’t like having company when he worked. But he really didn’t have the heart to kick him out, so he just turned up the music and made a show of ignoring Steve until he let himself out.

And then there was one mission, where Tony _very clearly_ messed up (abandoned his post to chase off a robot leaving Natasha to plummet five stories and she would’ve died if not for Thor who caught her at the last second), and while Clint was fuming and ranting on about how he was going to kill them all one day, Steve was being uncharacteristically quiet. Clint, between his curse words and derogatory terms, also noticed, and in a pause in the flow of words, he turned to Steve.

“What’s the matter, Cap? Usually you’re itching for an opportunity to yell at Stark,” Clint sneered.

“He knows I’m disappointed in him,” Steve said plainly. “And he knows to do better next time.”

For some reason, that hurt more than all of Clint’s targeted attacks. Being a disappointment was worse than having someone mad, because being a disappointment meant that something could’ve been done better. _And Anthony, you little useless disappointment, there is always something to improve on._

Tony glared at Steve, who knew the late Howard Stark personally, and turned on his heel to storm out of the room. He was going to upgrade the suit, early warning systems, maybe implant small parachutes into the team’s armour, just do better. He was going to work. He wasn’t going to be a disappointment, and then maybe, finally, they’ll start to like him.

The praise he got whenever he made something useful powered him, pushing him to go on and make better things. He lived for approval; and he was always aching to get more, to be shown that he was doing good in the world. If something was wrong, he’d fix it; he’d _make it better_. It was unhealthy, and he didn’t need a therapist or professional to tell him that it came from his shitty childhood, but he couldn’t stop. 

Later that night, Steve found him in the workshop.

“What are you doing?” he asked, after JARVIS let the door open for him, that little bitch.

“Doing better,” Tony answered. “Like you said.”

“You know that’s not-“

“It’s fine, Cap. Honestly, it needed improvement anyway.”

“You don’t take criticism well.”

Tony laughed. “Yeah.”

He twirled the screwdriver around in his hands for a bit, looking at the hologram schematic. He was still a bit on edge after the conversation earlier, and wasn’t too keen on letting Steve stay and watch him work. He was just about to turn the volume up on his music so that Steve could take a hint and leave, but he opened his mouth, starting a conversation, and Tony kept the music low.

“You look just like Howard, when you work,” Steve noticed, and Tony’s veins turned to ice.

“How so?” he asked, keeping the bitter tone out of his voice.

“You’re so, so concentrated,” Steve answered. “It’s like nothing else matters.”

Tony laughed coldly. “Yeah. Couldn’t even make time for his son.”

Steve tilted his head to the side. “I’m sure he was thinking of you.”

Tony shook his head, a thin smile stretching across his lips with his amusement of how wrong Steve was. “Oh, sure. Probably thinking about how much of a disappointment I was.”

“He would be proud of you now.”

“Would he?” Tony raised his head, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Look; I really don’t want to be having this conversation.”

“What happened after I went missing in the ice? He seemed like a nice person,” Steve pressed, ignoring Tony’s reluctance, his need to know getting the better of him.

“What happened?” Tony spat. “He was looking for _you_. He met my mom, knocked her up, got married, and for the first seven years of my life, he was up north with his Baywatch crew. Then he sent me away to boarding school and gave up on the search when he died.”

Tony threw the screwdriver down with intent, and it rolled uselessly under the table.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he seethed.

“I just thought-”

“Howard was a shit father. Don’t pretend you know everything,” Tony shook his head, turning the music up louder even though Steve was still present.

Steve sighed and left, figuring that it would probably be best to not talk to him for the rest of the day.

And as the days went by, Steve realized that he hadn’t actually said anything to Tony in a week. Heck, nobody had actually seen Tony in a week. JARVIS said he would let them know if Tony was in trouble, so Steve didn’t worry too much, but Tony’s well-being had been on his conscious ever since the fever in the Quinjet. Tony played it off fine, which sometimes made Steve wonder if it was literally just the fever that made him act like that, but the conversation that they had afterwards frightened him. Tony basically begged him not to tell anyone. That’s not a healthy mindset.

But after a week and a bit, Tony came back up for a cup of coffee and some socializing.

“Decided to grace us with your presence?” Clint joked when he came back.

“You just can’t get enough,” Tony said, all smiles. He winked at Steve.

Steve was confused. How could he just go on like nothing happened? Tony didn’t seem like the forgive and forget kinda guy, and neither was Steve. It was always hard for him to leave a fight unresolved, always hard to step down and let the other guy leave, continue on like nothing had happened in the first place. It gnawed at him, and he watched Tony as the days went by, waiting for the time that he finally confronted him. But he never did.

So they flitted around each other for a week or two, Tony smiling reassuringly whenever Steve looked at him funny.

Today was one of the few rare times that Tony got up from his workshop. Steve watched him from the couch as he grabbed a mug and started up the coffee machine, sitting at the breakfast bar stool with his head in his hands. It looked like his eyes were closed, and at one point, his head actually slipped and nearly hit the marble of the bar before he caught himself, rubbing his eyes quickly and slapping his face.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Project deadline,” Tony yawned. “Pep’s been at my neck all week.”

The coffee maker sputtered to life and Tony watched it with such joy and love that it almost made Steve feel like he was intruding. He went back to watching the news on TV, which was now displaying the weather, but a loud crash interrupted it and made him stand up quickly and look around. 

Tony was on the floor, the breakfast bar stool off to one side on the ground. Steve rounded the couch, and knelt down beside Tony. He grabbed onto his wrist, but he recoiled at the touch and carefully lifted his head up. If Steve thought he looked tired from the distance of the couch and the kitchenette, that was nothing compared to what Tony looked like now; it brought him back to the look on the soldiers’ faces after several days without sleep.

“Just got a bit dizzy,” Tony said, standing up shakily, accepting Steve’s hand to pull him up.

“Tony.”

“Since when am I ‘Tony’ to you? I have a heart condition,” he pointed to the arc reactor. “These things happen. I’m fine, Cap, don’t get your patriotic panties in a twist.”

“I think you should get checked out,” Steve reasoned. 

“I’m fine. Happens all the time,” Tony waved it off. “I just need coffee.”

Steve sighed and gave the now-full mug to Tony, making a decision. It seemed like the right time to announce it, and it was something that he’d been meaning to set up for a while.

“I want you to get a psych eval,” he said, after taking a deep breath.

“You can’t be serious. I have things to do!” Tony yelled, his grip on the mug lessening, and he had to hold it with two hands.

“You have nightmares, you lock yourself away instead of facing problems, you just passed out-”

“What nightmares? Hm? You going back on your promises now?” Tony taunted.

“Stark, you’re just being difficult,” Steve sighed.

“That never happened. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tony continued.

“Stop.”

“I’m not getting a fucking psych eval. I’m fine.”

“I’m just-”

“I have things to do. Leave me alone,” Tony slammed the mug down, abandoning the hold on it. He stomped off to the elevator, probably going to lock himself in there for another week or two. Steve sighed. This was not how he thought the conversation would go, and they really couldn’t get an appointment to get an evaluation without the patient’s consent.

The next day, Natasha got upgraded Widow Bites. They now all had another reason to fear her.

The day after that, Bruce received new stretchy pants. Pajamas this time. Apparently they were quite comfy, and Bruce wore them for three straight days.

Clint got a new quiver. Same size, but more space. Tony had found a way to make the little machinery bits in it smaller. It was lighter as well, almost like it was hollow, even with the arrows in it. And if Clint decided to do aerobatics or jump off of buildings, the arrows would be held securely in the quiver with some sort of weird friction hack. 

Thor got a Thor-proof comm (so that it wouldn’t get fried whenever he summoned lightning). 

Steve got a shield upgrade. Instead of just attracting all of the magnetic things in the area when he wanted the shield again, it just sort of propelled itself to him. Like the Iron Man suit; Tony could summon it when he wanted, from wherever he wanted.

Then one day, Tony was on the communal couch, cradling a mug of coffee. He looked dead on his feet, and Clint and Steve looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Even though Tony was their landlord, and lived there with them, he really didn’t make an appearance very often and always surprised the others when he did show up. 

“Hey, Stark! Truth or dare,” Clint asked, too cheerful for eight in the morning.

Tony thought for a bit. He really didn’t want to stand up at the moment, so he shrugged and said, “Truth.”

“How many hours have you slept in the past week?”

Tony looked at Clint with a judgmental stare. “Actually, dare.”

“Fine. I dare you to go to sleep.”

“I don’t like this game. Do you like this game? This is a boring game,” Tony said, draining the mug of coffee. 

“Get to bed; you look like death,” Clint said. “Your eye bags are the size of a small truck.”

“Mhm,” Tony mumbled, heading out of the room, but Steve caught him by his shoulders.

“You need to sleep,” he said in a low voice.

“I have been sleeping,” Tony raised an eyebrow.

“You just-”

“Why are you suddenly worried? Bruce isn’t even worried, and he’s Bruce,” Tony pointed it out.

That was true; Bruce hadn’t been too concerned when Steve approached him about Tony’s well-being. He just kept saying that if Tony was in trouble, JARVIS would let them know. But Tony kept dishing out upgrades like no tomorrow, and looked like he’d been up for a week straight. He just looked tired.

“I really think you should get a psych eval,” Steve said finally.

“I already told you. I’m not getting a fucking psych eval. I’m not even on the team,” Tony spat.

“What?”

“Coulson never told you? I was evaluated. By a certain red-headed assassin named Natalie Rushman. Oh, sorry. Natasha Romanoff,” Tony said bitterly. “Iron Man yes, Tony Stark no. I’m a consultant; I give you guys money, fight for a bit, but I’m not an Avenger.”

“You should be,” Steve said truthfully.

“I don’t know why you’re suddenly Mr Nice Guy, but cut it out. I liked it better when you hated me,” Tony stormed off.

Steve allowed Tony a day to cool off before he went down to confront him. All of the other Avengers weren’t worried; they didn’t have a reason to be. They weren’t there when Tony was screaming in his sleep about betrayal, the arc reactor, the wormhole and his suits. They weren’t there when Tony passed out from lack of sleep, or maybe something else. They weren’t there for the conversations that they had after their fights, where Tony admitted something out of anger, and they weren’t there when Tony was injured, letting the vulnerable side come out. They just didn’t understand.

The door for the workshop is already open, though, and Pepper is standing over a couch, with a body sprawled on the dark cushions. It took about half a second for Steve to realize that the body was Tony’s, and that Pepper was in distress. He took large strides and frowned when he saw that Pepper was nearly in hysterics and that Tony still wasn’t awake. In fact, he looked pale in his sleep, his eyebrows knitted together. Whatever he was dreaming about, it wasn’t pleasant.

“There’s,” Pepper gestured to the coffee table, which held a container of sleeping pills. Steve put two and two together, and slapped Tony’s face with enough force to leave a bruise. He jolted awake, flinching hard.

Tony’s eyes looked around wildly for a second, looking for something to ground him, then he closed his eyes once he saw Steve’s face looming over him and forced his chest to stop heaving as much. The remnants of the nightmare he was stuck in faded away quickly, and he was more miffed that Steve had caught him like this than anything.

“Ugh,” Tony groaned, stretching his jaw. “Why is he here?”

Steve huffed angrily, all of his relief turning into annoyance. “Care to explain what you were doing with these sleeping pills?”

“Sleeping,” Tony answered, raising an eyebrow. “I took your advice for once, Cap. I wanted a good night’s sleep.”

“We couldn’t wake you up,” Pepper said, still worried, her hands clasped in front of her lips.

Tony’s entire face changed, and he sat up quickly, grabbing Pepper’s arm. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Tony,” Steve said, his voice low. “Can you stop pretending for a second?” 

“I really don’t see the problem here,” Tony said, standing up. “And since when am I ‘Tony’ to you? You never answered that.”

“Ever since you went delusional on the Quinjet,” Steve said, finally having an answer. 

“Since you _what?_ ” Pepper asked. “When was this?”

“Pep,” Tony said, letting go of her arm. “I don’t want you to hear this.”

“No. Steve, what the _hell happened_ ,” she demanded.

“Remember the mission in which he hurt his leg? Had a fever. Screamed about everything under the sun. The arc reactor, the suits, a desert, begging for it to stop,” Steve spilled out. “I think even Howard Stark made an appearance.”

“Cap.”

“And he’s throwing himself in front of danger in battles, putting others at risk as well. Not sleeping well. Drowning himself in his work.”

“Cap- Steve.”

“He passed out the other day, did you know? I don’t-”

“Shut up!” Tony yelled, his hands balled into fists. He sat down with a huff, his head bowed, his breathing labored. 

“Tony, we talked about this. You're supposed to talk to me,” Pepper turned on him. “I can’t keep getting second-hand information.”

“I’m _fine_!” Tony stood up again. “These things just happen, okay? So what if I got a couple intense fever dreams? I’m sure Cap here would be screaming in his sleep if he was in my position, why am I any different? And I’m supposed to fight. I’m supposed to protect the world.”

“But don’t kill yourself trying,” Steve said through gritted teeth.

“I _didn’t._ I’m _alive_ ,” Tony gestured to himself. “And I’ve been like this all my life. Putting work in front of sleep. Since when was it a problem?”

“It was always a problem, since you never talk to me!” Pepper yelled. “I’m tired of you hurting yourself like this. I can’t take it anymore.”

“Pep-”

“You’re going to kill yourself one day,” she continued. “I can’t keep coming home, wondering if I’m coming back to a dead body. I can’t.”

“Honey, just-”

“Isn’t that part of a relationship? Communication?” she spat out. “For someone who talks a lot, you sure don’t like to speak.”

She stormed out, her red hair fanning out behind her, heels clicking on the hard floor. Tony watched her helplessly, not blinking until she was gone, then promptly collapsed on the couch, his hand covering his face, too tired to do anything but admit defeat. Steve looked on, not really knowing his place in the conversation or if he should even say something. They both stayed in silence for a while, Tony gathering himself together and Steve trying to not feel like he just broke up someone’s relationship.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally.

“Why are you still here?” Tony removed the hand from his face, revealing a stone-cold face. 

Steve didn’t say anything, but didn’t move either.

“You know why I keep things from her?” Tony asked rhetorically. “Because I knew this would happen. And I want to keep her. She is the one, the one good thing that has ever happened to me. And I can’t lose that,” Tony paused. “I can’t lose her.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeated, his voice filled with remorse.

Tony laughed coldly. “Damage is done, Cap. Just leave. Know your place.”

Steve turned his back slowly and left, casting a look over his shoulder before he turned the corner. Tony was still on the couch, his hand back on his face, but it looked a bit like his shoulders were shaking. 

(But Pepper came back a few days later and they had a long conversation, so maybe Steve’s intervention was not all in vain.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the nice comments in the previous chapters!   
> I love you all :)

“Where are we?” Tony asked for the third time.

“For the last time, I have no idea,” Steve said through gritted teeth. 

“Why would he send us here? There’s nothing. It’s the middle of a fucking desert, and why the heck would Hydra be in a desert? I thought it was based in Germany? Why are we here?” Tony continued to complain. 

Steve forced himself to stay calm, even though Tony was getting on his nerves. Fury decided that they should pair up again to find an old Hydra base. They had been searching for two days now, and Steve knew that Tony didn’t sleep, based on the fact that he stayed sitting upright in the pilot’s seat doing little things with the holographic screens every time Steve woke up and the eye bags that were getting heavier and darker by the hour. They were making a wide perimeter from the coordinates that Fury gave them, but nothing but sand made an appearance. There were no secret structures, and nothing under the sand, as far as Tony’s tech could tell. It was just sand for miles and miles. 

“Can we go back to the jet?” Tony asked quietly, a few paces behind Steve.

“A few more hours. Maybe we’ll see something,” Steve reasoned.

“Can _I_ go back to the jet?” 

“No. We stick together.”

“Cap. We’re not going to find anything. We should go, if this is a trap-”

“Then they would’ve taken us already,” Steve interrupted. “We’re fine, Stark.”

“Then why can’t we find anything?” Tony exclaimed angrily. “We’re in the middle of a fucking desert and my feet hurt and my chest hurts and I’m sweating up a storm.”

“Your chest hurts?” Steve turned around. To be honest, he was looking a bit pale.

“My chest always hurts. I’ve got a battery in it, remember?” Tony rolled his eyes. 

Steve huffed and turned around, continuing with his search. He kicked around in the sand for a bit, watching the mirages in the distance, looking for anything, really. The Quinjet got smaller and smaller as they continued, and there was a voice gnawing at him, telling him that maybe, just maybe, they weren’t in the right place after all. Maybe Tony was right. They probably should head back before too much sand got into the motors and they couldn’t take off.

He stopped walking, looking around. There was something peaceful about being in a desert, with nobody around for miles. Nobody to hear you laugh, cry, sing. Or scream.

It was too peaceful, too quiet. Something was off. Tony wasn’t talking.

Steve turned around quickly, fearing the worst, but Tony was still stumbling along, following Steve’s footprints. “You aren’t talking,” Steve noticed.

“Hard to. Can’t breathe,” Tony said, laughing coldly, before falling on his hands and knees in the sand.

Steve rushed over, kneeling beside him, not caring if the sand got stuck in his uniform and would take hours to get it all out. “What happened?”

“Where are we?” Tony asked, nearly pleading. His breath was coming up short and quick, and his skin pale and clammy.

“Somewhere in the desert. We’re okay,” Steve quickly read through his symptoms. “Is it your arc reactor?”

“I’m fine. I just, I just need to, to catch my breath,” Tony said in between gasps for air. “I can’t fucking breathe.”

“You’re shaking,” Steve noticed. “I think you’re having an anxiety attack.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Tony grimaced, holding his breath. He fell back onto his knees, rubbing his hands on the fabric of his jeans. “I’ll be fine, I’ll be good in a, in a second.”

Tony’s eyes were searching for something to hold onto, but it was just sand forever, there was nothing to landmark anything. Heck, even the Quinjet was out of sight. It was desert as far as they could see, everywhere was just the same, and they really weren’t supposed to be here. Steve could understand why he was so freaked out.

“Hey; look at me,” Steve knelt down in front of him. “We’re okay. We’ve got a jet with enough fuel for the moon and back, with food that can last us more than a day, and we’ve got means of getting help. We’re going to be okay. And I won’t even get mad at you for giving Fury shit about sending us to the middle of a desert.”

Tony cracked a small grin at that, but it quickly disappeared. “Just, just give me a minute,” he said, his breathing raspy.

“Is there anything I can do?” 

“Nah. I’m, I’m good,” Tony said breathlessly, his hand clutching onto the arc reactor. “You can go, go back if you want. I’ll catch up.”

“And leave you?” Steve shook his head. “Especially like this?”

“Don’t want you to see me,” Tony squeezed out, bowing his head. “Shit.”

“Hey,” Steve put a hand on his shoulder, but Tony batted it away.

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, then balled up the sand in his fist, rubbing it between his fingers, just to have something to do. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Steve sat in the sand beside Tony, who’s breathing seemed to ease up a bit. He traced patterns in the sand, and watched as Tony’s eyes followed his finger. It seemed to ground him, so he kept doing it until Tony sighed heavily and fell back on his butt, rubbing his eyes.

Steve didn’t say anything as Tony counted his breathing, his lips moving silently with the numbers. He slowly stopped shaking and the colour returned to his face, but Steve still had his eyebrows knitted together in worry. It sounded like this was not the first time that Tony had experienced such a thing, and why didn’t the rest of the team know about it? This stuff could seriously affect how the missions were distributed.

“Sorry you had to see that,” Tony said finally, removing his hands from his bloodshot and watery eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” Steve replied, shutting down his thoughts for later. “You good to head back?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, getting up. His legs still didn’t feel like cooperating, though, and he put a hand on Steve’s shoulder to catch himself before he fell. Steve took his hand as he stood up and held onto his elbow to balance him, just to make sure Tony didn’t collapse again. “I’m _fine_ , Cap.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Steve shook his head. “We’re talking later.”

“Don’t wanna,” Tony whined.

“And you’re telling Miss Potts.”

“No,” Tony put his foot down. “Don’t.”

“I don’t get why you’re always closed off all of the time. We want to help you. It’s clear you’re suffering, and I-”

“Not now,” Tony shook his head, interrupting him, still shaky. “Don’t do this. Not now.”

Steve sighed but shut up, keeping his hand on Tony’s elbow all the way to the Quinjet.

\--

“We searched everywhere. We used all of the technology we had, and with Stark’s devices, that’s a lot.”

“I understand you’re mad, but-”

“C’mon, Fury. Do you know how much fuel and time it takes? That’s two days we wasted.”

“Look, Captain; Stark, I understand would take it out on me. But you?”

Steve sighed and turned around, risking a glance at Tony. He was nodding off in the backseat, catching himself every time and rubbing his eyes every few seconds. He was obviously exhausted, but refused to fall asleep.

“He’s asleep. There’s only me,” Steve turned back to the video feed.

“There are two things wrong here,” Fury pointed out. “One, Stark’s asleep. He never sleeps, ‘specially in the company of people. And two, Stark’s being quiet. He would jump on the chance to call me out.”

“We haven’t slept for two days, in case you haven’t noticed,” Steve said through gritted teeth.

“That’s where you’re wrong, too. _He_ hasn’t slept for two days. You, on the other hand, always make time for your beauty sleep.”

Steve groaned and leaned back in the seat. Of course Fury was right, but still. That wasn’t the point, the point was that Fury had sent them to the middle of nowhere.

“Get some shut eye,” Fury said finally. “We’ll deal with the issue when you come back.”

Steve didn’t say anything else, but the feed cut to black anyway. He turned around again, watching Tony as he repeatedly caught himself right before he fell asleep, over and over again, until finally, he had enough. He walked over to Tony and sat in the seat opposite him. “You want a pillow or something?”

Tony forced his head up straight, and his eyes were twitching from the effort of trying to stay open. He shook his head no, which Steve was not expecting. Fury was right. He was being unusually quiet.

“A blanket? I can recline the seat for you,” Steve offered.

Tony shook his head again, still quiet.

Steve sighed, leaning back into the seat. “It’s another good six hours before we touch down. I’m gonna sleep. Wake me up if you need me.”

Tony nodded, and Steve stood up to grab a pillow for himself, settled down in the pilot’s seat and closed his eyes. He waited a few minutes before turning around, and satisfied that Tony had finally, finally fallen asleep with his head wedged against the seat and the headrest, he allowed himself to also drift off for a bit.

He dreamt of a Tony who didn’t speak. He wasn’t Tony Stark anymore, just an empty shell of what he was.

\--

It’s hard to find time to talk to Tony sometimes.

Steve really wanted to just sit down with him, maybe with tea or coffee or heck, even beer if it gets him to say something and just _talk_. He had meant to stop him before he left for his workshop after the jet landed, but Tony mumbled something about a shower and Steve let him go. When he asked JARVIS about his whereabouts later, the AI said that he was sleeping, and there was no way that Steve would interrupt _that_. Not when getting him to sleep was a rarity.

The next day, Steve decided to try again, but Tony was away at work. Actually working this time, at the business, attending meetings. Sometimes Steve forgets that Tony’s the only Avenger with an actual normal job, unlike the rest of them, who were assassins or a God or a freelance scientist. 

The day after that, he debated going down to see if he could get a few words out, but Fury called for a debrief (even though nothing really happened, it was just for legal purposes and pay). Tony was asked to attend as well, but he didn’t show up. Fury didn’t even mention it, just looked at Tony’s empty seat, shrugged sadly, and said, “Figures. Maybe we should’ve done this a different day.” Steve had no idea what the date had anything to do with Tony’s attendance.

It was nighttime, that same day, when he got back. Rhodey had also just arrived, and Steve followed him to the workshop. He didn’t even stop by the common room to greet the rest of them, which was strange behavior for Rhodey, who was usually a really friendly guy. Steve went down the stairs as Rhodey took the elevator, and ended up in the doorway of the lab as Rhodey rushed in front of him to tend to Tony.

Tony was sitting at his bar, an empty glass in his hand. There was a bottle in front of him, but it didn’t look opened. He didn’t say a word as Rhodey put the bottle back into a cupboard and pried the glass from his fingers. He rested his head on his arm, facing away from Steve. They both looked like they hadn’t noticed him in the doorway.

Rhodey said something too quiet for Steve to hear, but whatever he said, Tony’s shoulders started to shake and he held his face in his hands. The sobs were audible to Steve’s ears, and he was just about to say something when Rhodey gathered him in a hug. He had never seen Tony get hugged before, and he had never realized how much he looked like he needed it.

Rhodey noticed Steve and froze, looking back down at Tony then back up at him. He gently shook his head, and mouthed the word ‘go.’ Steve took one last long look at the scene in front of him, and left silently, making sure the door to the stairwell didn’t slam shut. Something told him that if Tony knew that he was there, he’d never speak to him again.

The next day, Rhodey popped his head into the gym. “Cap; a word?”

“Yeah?” Steve stepped away from his punching bag. Rhodey slipped into the gym and sat on a bench, and Steve followed.

“Look after Tony, alright?” Rhodey said, his tone of voice worried. “He’s a few months sober. Almost broke it last night. Just keep him happy.”

“What happened?” Steve asked, remembering how Tony was actually crying. Not just looking sad. Actual sobs of grief, loss, and heartbreak.

“Yesterday was December sixteenth,” Rhodey said plainly. 

“What was-? Oh,” Steve said, realizing. “That’s when, that’s when Howard-”

“His mother. That’s when his mother died,” Rhodey put up a hand, interrupting him.

Steve was silent. Was Tony’s relationship with Howard really that shitty?

“Even though he always acts all proud and bold and all that, he’s really not the best, underneath all of that personality,” Rhodey looked around quickly, as if Tony was listening in. “He’s been like that since MIT, back when I met him.”

“Is he,” Steve paused, taking a breath. “Is he maybe, depressed?”

“I don’t think he’s ever seen a doctor about that, but,” Rhodey bit his lip and shrugged. “He’s not doing too great.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Steve nodded firmly. 

“Get JARVIS to alert you if he does anything stupid,” Rhodey smiled. “And Cap?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s really nice of you to do this. I know he’s not the easiest to be around,” he put a hand on his shoulder.

“I think he’s actually grown on me,” Steve said, and found that he actually meant it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that this one took a bit longer to get out! I rewrote the ending like five times; hopefully this doesn't come across as too cheesy?

Tony Stark was not okay.

He wasn’t even a _smidge_ okay. There was not a grain of okay-ness in his body. He was a hundred and ten percent not a-okay, and it did not take a genius like himself to figure that out. It was like all of the okay-ness just left his body, and now he was left completely not okay and completely free of any okay-ness that he might have felt in the past. And all of the okay-ness that he might have felt recently, as well. And he might never ever ever ever be okay ever again, because he just so not okay that he couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to feel okay again.

Needless to say, Tony Stark was drunk.

And he wasn’t supposed to be drunk. He had been sober for three months and twenty-three days, since he got drunk, blacked out, and apparently walked all the way to Rhodey’s place in the pouring rain with a craving for a cheeseburger. But not just any cheeseburger; a Five Guys Burgers and Fries cheeseburger. The nearest Five Guys was half an hour away, so Rhodey just sighed, stripped Tony of his soaking wet clothes and tucked him into bed with a promise of a cheeseburger when he woke up (he never got the cheeseburger, it was just to shut him up). And when Tony opened his eyes after ten hours of unconsciousness, Rhodey told him that it was time to stop.

What was he trying to do again? Oh yeah. Not get drunk.

Tony shrugged and poured another drink; if he was going to disobey the rules, may as well go all or nothing. Maybe get so drunk that he forgot why he felt so guilty about it. The sting in his throat and eyelids as well as the bitter taste felt welcoming, and he forgot the warm feeling that came with the drug. God; why hadn’t he done this sooner? 

His mind was reeling; nothing really bad had happened, nothing to spur or cause the sudden need for a drink. Heck, Pepper wasn’t at his neck for anything, he had wrapped up most of his work for the holidays, had pre ordered Christmas gifts for the people in his life, and Rhodey had just visited a few days ago. He should be fine. He should be better than fine, really; but no, for some reason, his mind just went for the cupboard under the bar and brought out a nice bottle of alcohol.

Nothing had happened. So why was he drunk? Why did he really really, reallyreallyreally need a drink? Pepper was going to be back soon; he had to pull himself together. That or risk a talking-to. He could pretend this slip-up never happened, pretend that he was still almost four months sober and was planning on staying that way. It wouldn’t be too hard; he just needed to get the scent of alcohol off of his clothes and breath. He was pretty good at acting sober if he needed to.

He was just about to get up and gather himself when the door burst open, and he whipped around so fast that his neck cramped up. He winced both at the pain and at Steve’s figure in the doorway, wondering what the hell he did wrong now.

“JARVIS told me,” Steve started, not even bothering to finish the sentence.

“Oh, y’ _fucking idiot_!” Tony yelled at the ceiling, slurring his words together. “Who wuzzit; wuzzit Rhodey?”

“It was indeed Colonel James Rhodes who advised me to notify Captain Rogers should you be intoxicated,” the AI answered.

Tony sighed, his hands trembling. “JARVIS. Th’ _fuck_ were y’thinking.”

“About your well-being, sir.”

Steve was already putting the bottle away, and was about to pry the glass from Tony’s fingers when Tony flinched out of his way. “Y’don’t get a say ‘n this either, Rogers.”

“Tony,” Steve said, exasperated. 

“Don’t ‘Tony’ me. Y’don’t get t’call me Tony. Y’only call me Tony when you’re worried, n’ now’s not th’ time, ‘cause I am very clearly s’right as rain, right JARVIS?” Tony rambled.

“Actually sir, your stress levels-”

“That was rhetorical. Shut up,” Tony said. 

“You’re shaking,” Steve pointed out, sighing.

“No m’not,” he lied uselessly, hiding his hands behind his back so that Steve couldn’t see them.

“Could you hand me that glass?” Steve held out his hand.

“No. I bought it. With m’own money,” Tony protested. “Same with th’ drink. They’re mine. Y’don’t get to touch ‘em.”

“Do I need to call Pepper? Rhodey?” 

Tony paused. “Y’wouldn’t dare.”

“Then hand me the glass.”

“No.”

“Look, Tony; can you tell me what’s wrong?” Steve tried a different approach.

“Fucking-” Tony spread his arms, making a grand gesture. “Search me. I have no idea!”

“Why did you suddenly take a break from sobriety?”

Tony sat down cross-legged on the floor, cradling the empty glass like it was his first born. His shoulders were slumped, his hands were still shaking, and his posture just screamed defeat. He put the glass down in front of him but kept his hands at the ready in case Steve were to snatch it away from him, and sighed deeply.

“I really, really, really needed a drink,” Tony said finally. 

“Why?” Steve knelt down beside him.

“I don’t fucking know!” Tony let out a huff of air in frustration. “I guess I missed this; being able t’not be myself for a while n’ being some weird, insane n’ psychotic version. I missed how it felt t’float.”

“I’ve never been drunk,” Steve admitted. He wasn’t allowed to drink (due to his health problems) before the serum, and after the serum, he couldn’t get drunk.

“Oh, it’s th’ best,” Tony laughed, but there wasn’t any humour in it. “S’like everything’s slightly dulled; all th’ thoughts, s’pecially th’ ones that say _you’re a fucking disappointment Anthony_ , they’re all gone. N’ I can breathe. S’all slowed down. Nothing’s loud anymore. I don’t hafta stay up n’ chase an idea ‘cause I already can’t think. S’like, s’like being wrapped ‘n a warm blanket, outta the dryer. S’calm. Quiet.”

“Don’t you think there are better ways?” Steve frowned, but at least he was getting somewhere with Tony.

“Nah. This or narcotics,” Tony pointed at the glass. “N’ narcotics jus’ make everyone worried. N’ s’much easier to overdose. Went to the hospital ‘bout five times when I was ‘n university.”

“What about talking to someone when you feel like drinking?” Steve reasoned, trying not to dwell on the fact that Tony was doing drugs at _fifteen years old._

“Go ‘way Anthony, Stark men are made of iron, you’re rich, what can y’possibly be sad ‘bout?” Tony quoted. “M’rich. I didn’t hafta work a day in my life. M’a spoiled brat who only thinks of himself. I don’t deserve to be sad.”

“Who said those things?”

“Big man ‘n a suit of armour,” Tony started. “I know guys with none of that n’ worth ten of you. Th’ only thing that y’really fight for s’yourself. You're not the guy to make th’ sacrifice play,” Tony grinned loopily at Steve. “N’that’s just you. People hate me; they should. M’a billionaire.”

“I’m sorry I said those things, but-”

“S’not your fault. Textbook narcissism. Don’t play well with others. What kinda other image are you gonna get of me?” Tony waved his apology off. 

“I could’ve at least tried.”

“I could’ve too. But we didn’t,” Tony pointed out. “S’fine, though. You’re not even half of m’problems.”

“What’s the other half?”

“Ah. Daddy issues, meeting R n’ D deadlines, trying to maintain stable relationships,” Tony listed. “Oh; don’t forget ‘bout th’ whole Avengers thing.”

“Is there any way I can make things better?” Steve offered.

“Yeah. Give me another drink,” Tony laughed, swishing the ice around in his glass. 

“You know I can’t.”

Tony sighed, ceasing the movement with his hand and bringing the glass to his lips, getting the last bit of liquid. “Cap; I really tried.”

“I know.”

“S’just so _hard_ ,” Tony stressed. “I really wanted t’be sober.”

“I know,” Steve repeated. “It’s alright.”

“I really tried,” Tony repeated with more urgency, nudging the glass away. He put his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands, staring determinedly at the ground. “M’sorry.”

“What for?”

“M’a fuck-up,” he said, letting out a cold laugh that quickly turned into a sob. 

“Hey,” Steve said softly, putting a hand on Tony’s shoulder with little weight, and when Tony didn’t flinch away, he squeezed it. “You’re not a screw-up. You’re a good person for trying.”

“S’not good enough,” Tony said, his voice wavering. He dropped an arm and scratched at the floor, looking everywhere but at Steve. “Never was. M’a mess.”

“You are more than just good enough,” Steve reassured him. “I’ve never seen someone go so over-the-top to make sure someone was comfortable and welcome. And sure, this crime-fighting business is dangerous, and you don’t have to do it, but you make sure we’re as safe as we can be. You never stop working.”

“Then why does everyone hate me?” Tony asked, too drunk to care how childlike it sounded. He still refused to look at Steve, staring blankly at the ground, his eyes red-rimmed and watery.

Steve didn’t have an answer for that. If he said that they didn’t, he would be lying; there were tabloids and gossip columns everywhere, rumours flying in the air, enough to make a solid argument. Sure, the Avengers themselves didn’t hate him (they had like a sibling-rivalry thing going on), but the Avengers didn’t decide the opinions of everyone; no matter how much Tony could try, there would always be someone out there who would kill to get their hands around his neck, or to at least spit in his face. 

“They don’t know you,” Steve answered finally.

Tony contemplated that for a bit, feeling himself get heavy in a tired way. He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes to keep himself from crying, watching the phosphenes appear until it started to hurt too much. He dropped his arms and clasped his hands together, wringing them over and over to distract himself from the silence.

The door to his workshop opened, and Tony didn’t even bother looking up.

“Is he,” Pepper asked, not bothering to finish the sentence, the click of her high-heels getting louder as she approached Tony.

“Yeah,” Steve answered, picking up the glass of ice. 

Tony didn’t say anything as Steve took the glass away from him, stood up, and set it on a table. Pepper replaced Steve spot beside him and she met his eyes. She was concerned, it was written all over her face; why wasn’t she mad? She should be mad; Tony had fucked it all up again. He deserved for her to be mad at him.

“What happened?” She asked softly, cradling his face. He looked down, away from her eyes.

“M’not _that_ drunk,” Tony mumbled.

“That’s not what I asked, Tony,” she said in the same gentle tone.

“I jus’ wanted a drink,” he answered plainly, rubbing at his eyes.

Pepper looked up at Steve for answers, but he just shrugged and knelt down on the other side of Tony. “He said he missed being drunk.”

“M’sorry,” Tony repeated, keeping his hands over his eyes as he got increasingly emotional. “I messed up.”

“It’s alright to mess up,” Pepper said, putting a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it away, his breathing picking up.

“Fuck,” he swore, bringing his shaking hands away from his face, revealing teary eyes. “Can he, can- Cap. Can you leave?”

Steve looked at Pepper, who nodded. “Let me know if you need anything,” he concluded, straightening up and smiling reassuringly at Tony, even though he wasn’t looking at him.

He made it all the way to his floor before he realized that his hands were shaking as well.

\--

No one saw Tony Stark for a while after that.

After confiding in Bruce, the resident “feelings” expert, Bruce concluded that Tony was simply embarrassed at being caught like that; the same reason why he didn’t like anyone seeing him sleep, and the same reason why whenever things got slightly tense, he just turned around and disappeared in his workshop for a while. The upgrades were his apologies, and once the recipient accepted them, Tony would be able to rest at ease. Or at least show his face, it seemed like the man was never resting (which was another thing that Steve brought up, but Bruce sighed and said that a ‘genius’s brain never rests’ and that he shouldn’t worry too much).

Bruce also expressed his distress at Tony drinking again, but shrugged it off as a one-time thing, because if Tony really was sorry and really was trying, then he would get better. But Steve kept thinking about his father; no matter how much he said he tried, Steve always found his father drowning himself in a bottle.

But no matter how many times Bruce told Steve not to worry, he still did; and not only that, Bruce didn’t look too sure of himself whenever he reassured the others that Tony was fine. Tony hadn’t been up in a week, probably without food and such, but Pepper was there, so he should be fine? Steve caught her one day leaving the building.

“Is Stark okay?” he asked.

“He’s been better,” she shrugged, then leaned in closer as if someone was listening. “In all honesty, I think he’s just embarrassed.”

That was what Bruce had said, but Steve still wasn’t convinced.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Business trip for three days. JARVIS will take care of him, don’t worry,” Pepper nodded. “Just maybe bring down a meal every once in a while.”

“Will do. Thank you, Ms Potts,” Steve said. “Have a nice trip.”

Pepper smiled at him and continued on her way, her head up and shoulders back. She was a true business woman, always composed and professional. How a woman like her ended up with the compulsive and brassy man like Tony Stark, he didn’t know. The two were polar opposites; but he guessed that the two found a middle ground.

But now, Pepper was gone, and Stark was alone. It was Pepper that he trusted the most; he barely spared a glance at Steve these days. So who knew what kind of trouble Tony would get into, should he drink again? There were explosives in the lab, he could seriously get hurt; and Tony could shut down everything, JARVIS included, so he could literally die down there without people noticing until days later.

The first day that Pepper was gone, Steve started asking JARVIS if he was still there every once in a while; if JARVIS didn’t answer (which thankfully hadn’t happened yet) then Tony was most likely in a compromised position. He brought down food every meal, ignoring Tony’s perplexed face. He tried starting conversation, but Tony didn’t seem up to talking, and just continued working on whatever he was doing, so Steve left. 

The second day, Tony still didn’t miraculously reappear in the common room, but he was still up and at it in his workshop. Steve brought breakfast for him, a simple cheese omelette, and he realized that he hadn’t actually slept all night, if the heavy eyebags and bleary eyes were anything to go by. He frowned.

“Did you sleep last night?”

“No,” Tony answered. “Too much to work on.”

“Like what?”

“Like, like things. I don’t know. Stop mother-henning me,” Tony waved him off, but took the omelette all the same.

\--

It was nighttime when it got bad.

Tony was lying on the ground of his workshop, rattled by a small explosion. His arm hairs were singed and his ears were ringing, and Dum-E was spraying fire extinguisher foam everywhere. He was vaguely aware of a british voice calling out. JARVIS?

“Sir, if you do not answer, I will call Captain Rogers.”

Tony tuned into the voice just in time. “Woah, no. We’re good,” he groaned sitting up. The back of his head stung where it hit the ground, and when he checked the area, sure enough, there was blood. He winced and rolled over, leaving a bloody handprint on the ground.

He stumbled over to the first-aid kit, mumbling curse words and limping. He had zoned out, probably microsleeping even though the amount of hours he had stayed awake wasn’t breaking any of his records, and cut the wrong wire. When he went to run the program, the whole thing had exploded, sending bits of machinery everywhere and undoing his hard work, and to add insult to injury, a small fire had started.

He wasn’t feeling too great.

He had failed at making something, something that was supposed to protect the team. He was a disappointment, and whenever he got like this he used to pour himself a drink; but he couldn’t, not now. He had already broken his streak of sobriety once, he couldn’t do it again. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did, his control over alcohol another thing he failed at. 

_A failure._

_Disappointment._

_You’re useless Anthony._

_Do better._

Tony grimaced as he inspected all of his physical ailments; a deep cut on the palm of his hand (could’ve been his face had he not put his arm up), several burns where his clothes had basically burnt off, and of course, the gash on the back of his head. His knee felt bruised down to the bone; he had no idea what hit it, but it hurt badly. Not to mention, the whole sleep deprivation thing didn’t help either. He felt nauseous and banged up, and on top of it all, the headache he had earlier had blossomed into some sort of supernova of pain. It weighed on his eyelids, making him groan softly and close his eyes.

“Sir, Dum-E appears to be in need of assistance,” JARVIS said, and Tony turned his head.

The robot had accidentally sprayed himself with the foam, which had short circuited the machinery. There were small sparks coming out of the body, and Dum-E clicked nervously. Tony sighed, ignoring his own injuries, and limped over to Dum-E. He could fix water damage. Probably. He’d done it before, but he would probably just get blood everywhere if he tried anything in his present state.

“I can’t fucking do this,” Tony swore, pushing Dum-E’s camera away from the explosion. “Just go somewhere else. I’ll fix this tomorrow.”

“Sir, are you alright?”

“Peachy,” he said, feeling irritation creeping in for no reason. He didn’t know if it was towards himself or JARVIS, but guessed the former, as it was his fault that he messed up, it was his fault that he couldn’t protect the others, it was his fault that he couldn’t be better, it was his fault that _he wasn’t good enough-_

Tony sat down on the ground, a wave of dizziness washing over him, and brought his hand down on some glass. He hissed and hugged his hand to his chest, but the damage was done. For some reason, that was the last straw, and he angrily ripped the larger pieces out of his hand, ignoring the fact that there were far safer and less painful methods of getting the glass out. But heck, he wanted to hurt. He fucking deserved it, like how his father would hit his hands with a belt, with a ruler, with whatever hard object, saying that he deserved the pain and if he would cry he would hit harder and he shouldn’t cry because _Starkmenaremadeofiron stop fucking crying, you’re better than this-_

Tony grabbed a shard of glass and made a deep line across his left wrist, watching as the blood pooled quickly, forming little beads. Then he did it again.

Again.

Again.

Again-

“Tony, what are you-” Steve interrupted him, out of breath. “JARVIS, he, he told me that you were, that you were,” he waved his hand at Tony’s form.

Tony looked at his arm and winced, just realizing what he was doing. It was all cut up, bleeding out, and his hair was still matted up with blood, and he was sitting in the middle of some wreckage. He probably looked like a mess. Hell, he was a mess.

“Go ‘way,” he croaked, holding his bleeding hands in his lap.

“What did you do?” Steve ignored him and went down on one knee so that they were eye-level. 

Tony still refused to look at him, opting to stare at the blood pouring out of his hands instead. It stung like a bitch, and it sure didn’t look pretty, but for some reason it captured his attention. Besides, anything was better than looking at the disappointed blue eyes that belonged to Steve Rogers.

“Explosion,” Tony said simply.

“And these?” Steve pointed at the dark, clearly on-purpose lines of blood on his arms.

Tony didn’t say anything, just dragged his right arm across his left wrist so that the blood would go away, but he just succeeded in spreading it everywhere. He turned his arm so his wrist would be pointed downwards, away from Steve’s view, but it was already hopeless. He was hopeless.

Steve wasn’t supposed to see this. Normally, Tony would probably be talking to distract Steve from what he was really seeing, or even better, annoying him until he left, exasperated and done with his shit, but he was too tired to act, to pull himself together. He really was going to throw hands with JARVIS sometime, alerting his _least-favourite_ teammate to come help him, the fuck was his AI thinking? JARVIS was lucky that Tony was too compromised to take it out on him, to destroy his code or rewrite entire sections.

“Your hands are shaking,” Steve noticed, grabbing the first-aid kit and putting one of Tony’s cut-up hands in his. 

“Mm,” Tony grunted. He winced as Steve slowly got all of the glass out of his hands with tweezers, the sharp pain being enough to keep his head foggy and not too focused on what was happening. The only sound was the glass dropping onto a sheet of plastic that was rescued from the wreckage of the project he was working on, but it wasn’t an awkward silence; Steve and Tony were both wrapped up in their own thoughts.

Steve was trying his best to stay concentrated on the task at hand (fixing up Stark), so he tried not to think about anything at all. But even though he tried to push it away, he kept thinking about what would've happened if JARVIS hadn’t said anything. Was it a suicide attempt, or was Tony simply doing it for the sake of hurting? How long had this been going on? Why was Tony Stark of all people hurting himself?

Tony was trying not to throw up. He bit his tongue hard to keep his stomach from revolting against him. His cheeks were burning red of shame and embarrassment at being caught like he was, bleeding out, tired, and _weak_. Howard Stark would be rolling in his grave if he knew that Steve Rogers, Captain America of all people, had seen him like that. His cuts and bruises stung like a bitch, and his head was pounding from the headache before as well as from when his skull slammed against the ground. 

“We need to wash your hair,” Steve declared finally, and Tony let him manhandle him to the bathroom in the workshop. 

The workshop bathroom was dimly lit, significantly less swanky than the other million bathrooms in the tower, but it still served its purpose. Steve rid the bathtub of a couple of scraps of metal and tools (what was that doing in there) and turned on the water while Tony sat on the closed toilet lid. He held his head in his hands, trying his very best not to cry. His eyes stung and there was a lump in his throat that he couldn’t force down.

Steve sat Tony down beside the rim of the bathtub, holding his head over the basin. He grabbed the shower extension to rinse off Tony’s hair, which was still matted with blood. He hissed when the stream of water touched the gash, but the cold quickly soothed the pain. The water quickly turned pink, and Steve got a towel and applied pressure to the back of Tony’s head to stop the bleeding.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” Steve asked, removing the towel to check if the gash was still bleeding.

“Like what?” Tony asked. He was not looking forward to The Talk.

“Anything,” Steve said with surprising softness. He didn’t demand anything, didn’t pry. It was an open question, giving room for yes or no or anything in between.

Tony took a deep breath, steadying himself and repeating the words that he had to say in his head over and over. Four words. Technically five? He better get the words out before he had enough time to think about it and ended up not saying anything, which would just make Cap on edge and wouldn’t help Tony either.

“I think I’m depressed.”

He waited for the ‘no shit, Sherlock,’ but nothing came. Tony would’ve liked to read Steve’s expression, but he stared determinedly at the spout in front of him. Something told him that he met Steve’s eyes, he would break. He wasn’t ready for eye contact, that was a whole new level of trust that he couldn’t have. He didn’t want to look at Steve and he didn’t want Steve to look at him.

Steve hummed, pressing harder on the gash when it wouldn’t stop bleeding. “Have you considered asking for help?”

“No,” Tony said, still staring at the wall. 

“Do you think maybe I could help?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to throw it all on you,” Tony admitted. 

“You can always talk to me,” Steve reassured him. “I’m here for you, the team, anybody.”

“I don’t want to ruin your image of Howard.”

“I’m not going to make you hold yourself back because I thought some dead man was what the media portrayed him as,” Steve said sternly.

Tony sighed, closing his eyes against the tidal wave of emotions he was feeling; shame, guilt, embarrassment, anger, annoyance, relief, all mixed into one. He was glad that he and Steve were finally talking and that he didn’t feel the need to run away because Steve had already seen it all, but he was embarrassed that he had been caught in the way he had; bleeding out and visibly not okay. The embarrassment and shame morphed into anger and annoyance at himself. He wished he could just sort of not feel anything again, even though it just felt like black and grey and heavy. 

“You okay?” 

“I don’t know,” Tony answered truthfully. “M’sorry. M’a mess.”

“It’s alright,” Steve said gently, shutting off the water and grabbing a roll of gauze. He wrapped it around Tony’s head, putting the pressure on the wound so that it would stop bleeding as much. He turned the water back on and held it over the basin, looking at Tony’s arms. “Rinse off your hands?”

Tony put his hands under the stream of water, wincing when it stung those cuts as well, but he felt better. Cleaner. His hands weren’t sticky anymore from the blood, and without the distraction of all the red, they looked manageable. His brain had also shut off a bit, so that was manageable as well. It was manageable. He could do this.

Steve wrapped up Tony’s hands and arm to the best of his ability. He had a bit of training from the army days, but that was also several decades ago. Once the bandages were cut and taped, Tony was practically nodding off, a full day and a bit without sleeping taking its toll on him. Steve sighed and looped his arms around him, helping him hobble over to the couch and over all of the machinery still on the floor. He tried not to look at the small spots of blood that littered the ground.

“Put your leg up,” Steve instructed once he got Tony on the couch, cracking one of the single-use chemical ice packs from the first-aid kit so that the reaction could happen. It quickly cooled in his hands while Tony worked on rolling up his pant leg to look at his injured knee. 

His knee was swollen, bright pink around the edges but dark at the site of impact, already bruising. It was radiating heat and Tony could feel his pulse in it, but it wasn't the excruciating pain that made him feel like throwing up like whenever he broke a bone. Steve seemed to figure that nothing else was broken as well, so he tied the ice pack to Tony’s knee using a tensor bandage and sat down on the couch cushions beside Tony.

“M’sorry,” Tony mumbled, his eyes closed.

“It’s alright,” Steve reassured him. “Do you want to get to bed?”

“Mm,” Tony said non-commitedly. “S’far.”

“You’d be comfortable.”

“Fine,” he said, standing up with difficulty until Steve laced his arm around his neck, supporting him as he limped over to the elevator, out of the workshop. 

Tony didn’t want to think about what would happen next, mainly because it hurt too much to think about anything, but his mind wandered there anyway. He didn’t want to think about being benched from the team, the only thing that had really mattered to him in a while. He didn’t want to think about Steve telling the entire team of his predicament, of this incident, because then they’d all look at him with pity and be all careful with their words around him, checking up on him and asking if he was okay. They were nice people, and they actually cared about him, he knew that, but he just really didn’t want them to make a big deal of it when it wasn’t.

Once Tony was tucked under his covers in just a pair of sweatpants, his eyes heavy and tired, he looked at Steve. “Are you going to make me do a psych eval?”

“Are you going to agree to do a psych eval?” Steve questioned.

“No.”

“Then there’s your answer,” Steve smiled. “Get some rest, okay?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Tony blurted out. “About, yeah.”

Steve frowned and sat on the edge of the bed. “I was wondering about that. Why don’t you talk to us?”

“Because,” Tony thought. “Daddy issues.”

“Continue?”

“Howard, he was always, uh, encouraging me to not feel anything,” Tony elaborated, even though the words felt stuck in his tongue and each syllable felt blocky. “He always thought I should feel simply either controlled anger or satisfaction.”

“And you still follow his rules?” Steve asked.

“I was under his care for twenty-one years,” Tony said coldly. “It’s kinda hard to shake off.”

“You think you could try?” 

“What?”

“Talk to us before it gets bad. I watched you slowly decline, alright? I knew I should’ve done something, but you kept pushing me away. You questioned why I cared; why can’t I just care, simply because I feel like it?” Steve explained. “I know we got off to a rocky start, but you’re nothing like your evaluation. I’m sorry I said those things on the helicarrier, because I saw you fly into the wormhole, expecting to never come back. You have a heart, and I’m sorry I made those accusations when I didn’t even get to know you.”

“Wow. Okay,” Tony rubbed his hands on his face, digesting everything that Steve had said. “Yeah. You were a dick, I was a dick, and I’m sorry. To be fair, I was a dick first, so it was only natural that you were a dick back.”

“Is this a touchy subject?”

“I don’t like to think about the wormhole,” Tony admitted. It still awoke a certain panicky part of his mind whenever he thought about it, so he’d started to push it away after the Mandarin attacked. “Or… feeling things.”

“That’s fine. But could you talk to us? To me? Before it gets bad?” Steve asked.

“If it makes you sleep better,” Tony said. 

It wasn’t a no. Steve grinned and patted his good knee, standing up. “Get some rest. I’ll explain everything to Pepper.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Tony breathed out a sigh, sinking into his pillows. “And thanks. For, for all of this.”

“Anytime,” Steve said softly. “And I really mean it.”

“Ditto goes for me,” Tony said. “Talk to me if you need to, too.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

Tony rolled over and was immediately asleep.

\--

Pepper showed up the next day around one in the afternoon, and Tony was still sleeping.

Steve had texted her last night’s events, and she switched to an earlier flight just in case. She quietly slipped into bed beside him, putting her head in between his shoulder and his neck as he lay on his side. She tried not to think of the deep cuts that resided on his wrists, and tried not to wonder why he had gauze wrapped around his head that was tinged red with blood. Right now, he was sleeping, resting, and she knew that they both needed that.

“Pep?” Tony murmured, half-asleep.

“Right here,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, and Pepper pressed herself closer to him.

“Don’t be,” she reassured him. “I’m glad you found someone to talk to.”

Tony thought about Steve, who proved himself to be trustworthy, starting with the whole leg injury thing, going through trying to comfort him, and finally being there when Tony needed him the most. Slowly but surely, he had made a new friend. It wasn’t just TonyHappyPepperRhodey, it was TonyHappyPepperRhodey _Steve_ now. Someone he could talk to when things got rough.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “So am I.”


	5. Bonus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> User ChangedLater left this comment on my work, and I loved the idea so much I had to write it out.
> 
> "I would love to read a sequel were Steve takes Tony up on his offer to talk. Maybe Tony realizes that since he doesn't mind helping Steve and is actually really glad that Steve trusted him and confided in him, that maybe Steve feels the same way when Tony talks to him? I dunno, just a thought, but I would love to see a continuation of this in whatever way you choose."
> 
> Hopefully you enjoy this little bonus chapter :)

Tony couldn’t sleep. 

His eyes were gritty and sandy with exhaustion, and he felt disgusting, but trying to fall back to sleep after a nightmare was pointless; he knew that his mind wouldn’t shut up long enough for him to sink back into dreamland. All he was doing was wasting time when he could be working or reading or whatever. There was always something to do.

Tony rolled over slightly and glanced at Pepper, sleeping softly and noiselessly. She had woken up after Tony had first jolted awake, images of his teammates dying fresh in his mind, but had quickly fallen back to sleep after the routine ‘are you okay?’ and a glass of water. She would kill him if she woke up and he had already been working for a few hours, as she was all for the ‘healthy amount of sleep’ and such. Eight hours a night. What a waste of time.

But Tony couldn’t stay. He was just getting restless, and soon enough, he’d wake Pepper up with his rolling around, trying to get comfortable. It was four in the morning, he couldn’t do that to her, she'd already been up late with paperwork. He gently climbed out of bed, careful not to make any noise, slipped on one of his sweatshirts and left the room. He told himself that he’d pop down to the communal kitchen to get some coffee, go to his lab and work for a bit, and deal with Pepper’s wrath when it came to it. 

He arrived in the kitchen and turned on a light to a dim setting (his eyes weren’t used to the brightness yet) and started up the coffee machine. He was just about to grab his mug when-

“Tony?”

“Jesus!” Tony jumped, putting a hand over his arc reactor. “Can’t scare a guy like that, Rogers.”

Steve smiled, but Tony saw the eye bags, the worry lines around his eyes. As a matter of fact, Steve looked quite a bit like Tony on a bad day. Pale, heavy, dead inside. 

“You okay?” Tony asked finally, raising an eyebrow quizzically. “You’re looking quite miserable for...” He checked the time on the microwave. “Four-fifteen in the morning.”

“You know how it goes,” Steve shrugged, the corners of his mouth still pulled up into a soft smile.

“Nightmare?” Tony asked, pouring the coffee into his mug.

“Yeah,” Steve admitted, his hands hidden in the pockets of his sweatpants. Even his posture screamed defeat.

“Me too. You want coffee?” Tony offered, holding up the coffee decanter.

“It doesn’t do anything,” Steve frowned.

“Yeah, but at least it tastes good.” Tony poured another mug and sat down on the couch, putting their coffees on coasters on the coffee table. “Come on, we can share our traumas.”

Steve sat beside Tony, picking up the mug of steaming coffee gently. “What was yours about?”

Tony took a long sip before answering. “I guess- and it’s not all of it, I usually try to forget the dreams as soon as they happen- but I think there was a wormhole, and you guys were all dead, and I could’ve saved you. I don’t know how, but there was this feeling that I could’ve done more. It’s a recurring dream, actually. I could’ve been better, and you guys could’ve lived.”

Steve swirled his coffee around in his mug, deep in thought. “You are enough, you know.”

“But what if I could’ve done something more? What if Nat didn’t have to get injured on her last mission because I could’ve made her suit more durable? What if she hadn’t just gotten a flesh wound? What if she had died?” Tony ranted.

“It wouldn’t just be your fault.”

“But what if one day it was?”

“You’re one person. You won’t make that large of a mistake, trust me.”

Tony laughed coldly, suddenly in a self-deprecating mood. “I have, there’s things I do as Iron Man, they just- look, Steve. I’m a genius. If I wanted to, I could break every nuclear code. I have the intellect to make a weapon that could destroy the world ten times over. Bruce, remember what he said? We’re a time bomb. I’m a time bomb.”

“But you won’t do those things,” Steve tried to reason.

“But what if I did?” Tony snapped. “Barton. Loki. Someone could easily control me into doing things. Which is why I gotta keep- I gotta- ugh.” Tony paused, gathering his thoughts. “Threat is imminent, okay? And I have to make sure everything will be safe. I have to work. I have to make sure that there is no ‘what if’.”

“Tony. Believe me when I say that we won’t let it happen,” Steve stopped him. “If you ever get possessed like Barton, we’ll make sure you don’t do anything stupid. We’ve got your back. You just gotta tell us when things go wrong, and as a team, we can work on it.”

“Heh,” Tony smiled slightly, looking at his mug. Steve’s words did little to reassure him, but now that he did think of it, worst comes to worst, if Tony got possessed, they could just knock him out for a few hours. “Is that why you do the team trust exercises?”

“They’re not trust exercises; it’s bonding,” Steve grinned. “You should join in sometime; it’s gotta be lonely working in your lab all the time.”

“Yeah,” Tony admitted, kinda considering taking Cap’s words to heart. “Anyway, your turn. What’s got you up at this fine hour?”

Steve shrugged. “It’s like, well, nobody dies, first of all. So that’s a plus.”

“Already looking at the bright side of things,” Tony smiled. “Group therapy really works, doesn’t it?”

Steve smiled, looking at his now empty mug. “There are a lot of days when I want to go back to being Steve Rogers from Brooklyn. Where there’s my best friend Bucky, Peggy Carter, my friends from the army; sometimes I just want all that back.”

“Wait- Peggy Carter?” Tony raised an eyebrow. “She was, wait. She-”

“You knew her?” Steve asked, equally confused.

“Aunt Peggy. She wasn’t technically my aunt, but, wow. Small world,” Tony laughed, raising his mug as if to toast. “I know she worked with you, but I didn’t know that you two were buddy-buddy. Anyway, continue.”

“So yeah. I’d love to have Bucky, Peggy, and my buddies back; but I also really enjoy your company, the modern world and all that. The Avengers- they’re like, they’re my family. And I can’t have both. So sometimes in my dreams I’m trapped back in the nineteen-forties, and I know something is missing. I know that there’s people in my life that I left behind somehow. And when I wake up, I’m trapped here, with no Peggy or Bucky or everyone I knew back at home,” Steve concluded, falling back into the couch cushions. 

“Life is just one giant nightmare for you,” Tony frowned. “If it makes you feel better, Peggy’s still alive.”

Steve sat up straight. “What?”

“She’s in a nursing home upstate. I can take you there, it’s just about an hour north if you’re going the speed limit, half an hour if I drive,” Tony offered, smiling at Steve’s reaction. 

“Wow. That would be, wow. Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that,” Steve grinned. “Thanks, Tony.”

“I’m sure she’d love to see you. If you want, we can head out and grab breakfast on the road? If they’re not ready for visitors by the time we get there we could just hang around the city,” Tony shrugged. “Let me just get dressed and we can go.”

“That would be, yeah. Thanks for doing this Tony, I don’t think you know how much it means to me,” Steve said, standing up, unable to stop smiling. “I thought I was, I thought there was no one left.”

“She’s a fighter, she is. She was going to the gym every day until about eighty-five,” Tony said. “She’s not leaving anytime soon.”

“Thank you. For, for Peggy, and for listening to me. It’s hard to talk to people sometimes, y’know?” Steve said softly.

“Anytime, Cap, and the same goes for me.” Tony held out his hand, and Steve shook it before pulling him into a hug. “You okay there, Steve?”

“I’m glad to see you’re okay,” Steve mumbled into his shoulder, and Tony allowed himself to relax.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tony reassured him, giving him a thump on the back to restore some manliness. They both pulled away, with a promise to meet in the parking lot in fifteen minutes.

Tony smiled. He had never really appreciated talking to people, Howard having taught him to keep everything inside. But his heart had a special lightness to it and the corners of his mouth wouldn’t go back down into a neutral expression, so maybe it wasn’t all so bad. Maybe it would be worth it to open up to people and let them open up to him as well. Talking to Steve, well, it made him feel like he did some good in the world, offering solutions, letting him know that Peggy was still alive. It made him feel… wanted. He hadn’t felt that way in a while.

Tony was glad he was alive. He had a breakfast date(?) with Captain-freaking-America. Life was looking up.


End file.
